The trick would be refraining from clotheslining the gentleman who was exiting the townhouse. Circumstances were made all the more dire in his mind because they were quite plain to any neighbors or onlookers. The Driffields had not only one, but two, carriages in their vicinity and possessed an unmarried, eligible daughter.
Gossips would try to solve the equation with gusto, forgetting, if they even knew, about Teddie’s sister.
He told his driver to wait and stepped out without any help, fairly hopping from the conveyance to the ground. He crossed the quiet road and did not try to smooth his expression of displeasure.
He just caught the unnamed man before he retreated into his landau and gave him an unhinged smile. It would not have been out of character for a shark who’d just sighted its dinner.
The unknown man paled as he stepped up, but he made it inside.
Roderick was at the Driffields’ door and recognized Lee. “Your Grace,” he said, with more tact than he had previously managed.
“I am not expected, but I hoped to leave my card,” he said, with the most dignity he could muster. Roderick accepted it. Given that Lee had only just seen Teddie outside, he rather childishly hoped that she would have stayed. He didn’t think she was unobservant enough to have missed the sight of the Welburn livery and crest. He’d always hated the stark yellow, but supposed it had its value if one wanted to attract attention.
He paused and leaned toward Roderick. What he was about to say might be disregarded as the mumble of a desperate man, and he didn’t know if Roderick would relay it. Maybe not. Roderick remained in place.
“If you please, tell her I love her,” said Lee.
“Who, Your Grace?”
By his tone, one would have thought Lee asked Roderick to vomit on his employer’s best hat.
“Miss Driffield.”
*
Teddie didn’t have the mettle to open the door again and charge outside.
As soon as she’d seen the carriage, she grasped Emma’s arm and pulled them both inside, earning a squeak from her sister. She knew there’d be no way to hear Lord Valencourt’s voice through the door. It was too quiet and distinctive in its tone. There was no hope that it would make it through the wood at all.
Despite this, she could not make herself leave the foyer.
“Teddie, why don’t you just go speak to him?” Emma asked, after appearing to deliberate with herself silently. She was not quite meeting Teddie’s eyes.
It instantaneously goaded Teddie, who said, “The last time I did that, you appeared to take issue.”
“I was worried that you would come to harm.”
“I’m a woman grown, Emma, not a doll to be safeguarded and dressed and taken out for special occasions.”
“You ran out of the house in the middle of the night—on little more than a suspicion,” said Emma. Truculently, she put her hands on her hips. “Before that, you ran out of the house in the middle of the night to go to a theater with a man you didn’t even know well.” She glared at Teddie. “You seem to be making a habit of these things. Clearly, he holds some sway over you, and while I might have tried to keep you safe, it’s becoming more apparent that perhaps the better course is to let you do what you want! I fear you shall rip yourself to pieces, otherwise.”
Enraged because Emma was correct in her fear that Emilian was capable of swaying her, and Teddie did feel like she was torn to all ends of the country, she said, “Did you wait until morning to tell Mother, or did you do it as soon as I left?”
Mother was gone for the moment, out shopping for a new hat to match a deep green dress she’d just had made over. Teddie did not fear being interrupted.
“I waited, Teddie. When you failed to return, I feared the worst,” said Emma, shaking her head. “I did not wish to deny you…” she blushed and said, “pleasure. You are practical; I know that.” Teddie calmed, but only a modicum. “I did not worry that you’d get yourself with child or that you’d be seen going to him. I only feared that perhaps someone had hurt you on your way to the duke’s.” She paused. “Or on your way back here. I didn’t do it out of spite or censure, I promise you.”
This gave Teddie something new to think about, which she had not previously considered. Her sister might have gone to bed with Matthew before it was sanctioned by man or God. If so, the act really could not have been so awful. Emma was such a perceptive, fair soul.
They’d been taught that to speak of such things was crass and not for women to do.
She felt the wind go out of her sails, as it were, upon the abrupt realization that such teachings could be, in practice, unrealistic. She did not feel broken or betrayed, or as though she had done anything wrong, in spite of being told she would feel that way if she transgressed.
Curses, she thought. Right now, she did not have the time or the wherewithal to assess any of this.
“Did you and Matthew… before you… were married…” Teddie raised her eyebrows. She was harder to rattle than Emma but did not wish to be too blunt. It wouldn’t do to ruffle her sister’s sense of decorum when she wanted confirmation of something that supposedly went against every social dictate in all of England.
Emma’s even deeper flush was enough of an answer. In spite of it, she said, “More than once. To be precise. And many, many times after. Of course.”
This endeared Emma even more to Teddie, who beamed. Who would think that Matthew, who had been quite reserved, was up to such escapades? She was tickled, as well as even more sorry that Emma was now alone.
With relief, she said, “How did you know that you wanted to? At first.”
“It was Matthew. It didn’t feel as irrevocable as we’ve all been led to believe, either,” said Emma. She looked pensive. “I mean to say, I felt neither devalued nor defiled.”
“Neither did I.”
“But Teddie, if you feel so, why did you break things off with Lord Valencourt? You cannot simply go about—”
Roderick opened the door almost directly between them, and Emma hopped back two paces. He was, unexpectedly for a man and more so for a footman, pink about the face and even what Teddie could see of his ears. She imagined that she was, too.
“Goodness, Roderick,” said Emma. “Was that necessary?”
“Terribly sorry, Mrs. Crowley,” he said, perfunctorily. Emma, thankfully, was too levelheaded to take true offense to his lack of an apology. “Miss Theodora?”
“Yes, Roderick?”
“Lord Valencourt told me to tell you something, Miss.” He glanced at Emma, then back at Teddie. “Is it all right for me to say it in front of Mrs.—”
“Yes, yes, do go on,” said Teddie, flustered at being interrupted while discussing such an intimate matter.
“He told me to tell you that he—loves you,” Roderick said, remaining admirably composed while relaying a terribly personal revelation. “He left his card, as well. Again. Miss.”
“He, who?” said Teddie, her mind suddenly blank of the particulars. She accepted the card without looking at it.
“Lord Valencourt,” said Roderick, eyeing her surreptitiously, as though he believed she might faint. She could not blame him.
“The Duke of Welburn?”
Somewhere very distant from the present, she remembered that she quite liked Roderick, and that she should thank him for his willingness to act as a messenger of such news. Emma and her mother were less convinced of his capabilities: Mother because he was slightly impertinent, and Emma because he was quite young.
Both of those things—youth and cheekiness—were grown out of, in Teddie’s opinion.
And both of them were probably why Roderick was doing something that was, by the vast majority of measures, not part of his usual duties. To think of any of the other footmen saying something similar to the daughter of their employer was laughable, even if it had been uttered by a duke. They would probably just omit to do it at all.
Emma said, “Who else could it be, Teddie?” She brought her finger
s to her lips in thought, then sprang before Roderick to throw open the door. “Has he gone?”
“His carriage was out—” began Teddie.
“It’s just leaving,” said Emma. Without any bite, she grumbled, “What a thing for him to do,” and came back inside. The door closed with a click that almost echoed her sentiment.
Teddie had to agree as she toyed with the card in her left hand, crumpling it. “I don’t see why it would be difficult to say it to me in person.”
Emma didn’t mince her words. “You are far more likely to hit him than to swoon, even if you love him, too. I would not chance that, especially if I might be hit near the same place.”
Because Roderick seemed stymied about whether or not to go, or stay, he was present to hear it. His eyes bulged in surprise, but he said not a word.
Without acknowledging that her sister was, once more, right, she replied, “And why did he leave another card? I know where he resides. He knows I know.” There was no way in Heaven and earth that Lord Valencourt would forget how precisely and thoroughly she knew, she thought, with no small amount of smugness.
“Force of habit, and I would guess… nerves. He’s not thinking at all clearly.”
“He isn’t?”
“No,” said Emma, and now, she smiled. “He is in love.”
What a wonderful, wonderous thing, Teddie told herself, before reason could barge in.
Now, she had only to understand where it might lead her. Instead of feeling purely joyous, she felt more lost than ever. For she saw no clear way in which she could join her life with the man who had deceived her. She did not know why Emma was smiling. It seemed that Lord Valencourt’s love on its own was not enough for her to butcher her self-worth.
Even if she wanted to.
Chapter Twelve
Of all the people in the world who might be called to advise on a woman, Paul felt as though he might be the least qualified. Or the best, depending on what topic one wanted advice about. For yet another time in very recent memory, he was host to the Duke of Welburn in his set, pouring wine and offering condolences as though he were consoling a beloved relation over a death. He didn’t mind, but he did worry for Lee’s mental state.
“And so,” said Lee, “I told one of their footmen to tell her that I loved her.”
It was not the most heinous thing Paul could conjure to mind, even if it was among the more outlandish. Yet Lee had made the statement with the sobriety of a vicar delivering a homily.
“Did he tell her?”
Lee said, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Why… not?”
“I don’t.”
Lee looked at him balefully, if not pitifully, and Paul resolved not to laugh. Under other circumstances, he might, but it was clear that his friend was too far gone for that. Lee was both in love and inebriated.
I can sympathize, thought Paul. The origin of his sympathy was irrelevant right now, though. And anyway, Lee wouldn’t want to hear about it. Not given the state he was presently in.
“Did you not stay to see if the man did what you requested?”
“I was too frightened.”
“Of being hit, again?”
“No,” said Lee, grasping for gravitas and securing only ire.
“It was a jest.”
“I do not appreciate it.”
Now it was supremely arduous not to laugh. Fortunately, Paul had plenty of practice not laughing at an older brother who was entirely too serious. Serious to the point of being stuffy, Paul thought fondly.
He softened his tone. “I am sorry, Lee. Tell me what scared you.”
“She might not love me.”
“You get used to that.”
“Will you stop being flippant?”
“I wasn’t,” said Paul. “I was merely making an observation. One does get used to being in love with someone who does not reciprocate.”
He did not believe that was a peril inherent in courting Miss Driffield, but he knew all too well that when one was in the thick of any drama that was not confined to the stage, it was easy to ignore facts. Everything became a signifier of gloom and failure.
“So, you think that she does not love me!”
Tolerantly, Paul said, “No, I think that she does. But I also think that she has had to assume her place in society without any of our advantages, and perhaps I was rash to tell you to mislead her.”
Lee’s eyes narrowed as he spoke. “Yes, I rather think you were.”
Prickly, for he rarely miscalculated when it came to his friends, Paul could do nothing but apologize once more.
“You have my most sincere apology.”
They looked at each other for a tense moment. Lee could be proud. But if anyone asked, Paul would readily admit that he was even prouder. Not that he had any special reason to be conceited, for he was neither a duke nor an heir. He did not often apologize, yet he had done it twice in less than a quarter of an hour.
He did feel remorseful for assuming that Miss Driffield would be less chagrined than she was upon discovering the deception. In his own defense, he hadn’t thought things would be so botched. Who had botched them more, Lee or Miss Driffield, he could not say. Ordinarily, he might blame Lee, who always meant well yet lacked finesse when it came to interpersonal matters. But Miss Driffield had such spirit that he feared she might be making things difficult for herself.
“It is not really you who is to blame,” said Lee, apparently by way of acceptance.
“You are overreacting,” Paul said. “It will all be set to rights.”
“Am I?” asked Lee.
“I say this with the utmost sympathy, but yes, you are.”
“Do you really think things shall improve?”
“I do,” said Paul. He did not know how, yet, but he did know that if he could help, he would do so.
Lee took a very long breath on his cigar and let smoke roll from his mouth. When he and Paul first met, he’d largely abstained from smoking. But over time, Paul observed that Lee had grown fonder of tobacco when under pressure.
Once a minute had passed in companionable silence, Lee mumbled, “I don’t deserve her.”
“Do not be maudlin. You do.”
“I’m not. I don’t.”
“You are. You’re always mawkish when you’re foxed,” said Paul.
“Well, what would you do?”
“I’ve told you. I wouldn’t marry in the first place. But if you mean, what would I do if I were you…” Paul smirked. “Right now, I would calm myself.”
His friend was a clever observer of humanity. It was both tragic and amusing that he could not see how a plan, a perfectly good one that was not cruel, might have backfired a little. Paul had known that offending Miss Driffield was a possibility, but he did not consider it to be a terminal one. He did not necessarily think that she would sniff out Lee’s predicament.
That she had done so was… regrettable, thought Paul. But from what he had been able to glean, he might swear that the woman was falling, or had fallen, for his friend. He didn’t believe that Lee should give up hope. Lee was, on the other hand, convinced he was irredeemable. That he had tripped up in a manner that was ultimately unforgivable.
Fortunately for Lee, who was currently wallowing in self-pity, Paul was a great believer in romance. He was simply unorthodox in his pursuits of it and would be the first to say so. Society might have deemed him incorrigible, but he called himself avid.
To his mind, Miss Driffield’s actions just said two things, mainly: she was lively, which was fully compatible with Lee’s own verve, and she was now shaken. He understood why she would be, just much as he could empathize with Lee’s original determination to find a wife before he fell into absolute indebtedness.
“I am quite calm.”
“I do feel somewhat guilty for spurring you on to look for an heiress,” said Paul, “but to be fair, I don’t know what else one in your situation would do.”
“That’s true… was
n’t it your idea?”
“Not entirely,” Paul said, affably. “But it did seem more feasible than becoming an expert in stocks and investing. Or convincing a man of business to become one for you. And you aren’t a lover of the gaming tables.”
“Neither are you!”
“No, but I’ve better luck than you.” And he had more skill, which was ironic. Theoretically, an actor should be able to gain from the tables more often than he could. But the truth was, Paul had an odd little knack for winning when he set his mind to it. Mostly, he was good at wagers and betting because he liked to read people’s actions. Their countenances and their tics. He was also good at numbers, which helped. “Tell me, Lee, what is it that you think is so hopeless?” he asked.
He’d been hopeless before, and he’d buried it under an impeccable appearance and a zeal for living until he’d forgotten it. But it had helped to figure out what instigated the original feeling. He wouldn’t speak of that to another person, no matter how close they were, and half-expected Lee to dodge the question.
“I think God is toying with me,” said Lee. “Why else would He allow me to meet her, then put her out of my reach?”
“Leaving aside the Almighty just for the moment, she is not out of your reach. She absconded in the dead of night not once, but twice, because of you. Do not forget that.” Paul stretched in his chair. They were in a matched set, an immaculate pair of brown leather wingbacks that Jeremy had given him. “Give her time. Maybe He is just working in mysterious ways, as I’m told He’s liable to do.”
“Another man was calling on her!”
“And unless he moves as quickly as you, I am certain they are not engaged.”
Croaking, Lee uttered a bizarre, garbled noise of objection. “I wonder if she will receive me when, or if, I do call again.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because she will.”
“How do you know?”
“Are you, or aren’t you, deferring to my experience?”
Mulishly, Lee stuck out his lower lip, taking the cigar out of his mouth and tapping ash into the tray on the table. “You are my only friend who would understand all of this. Well, perhaps not my only friend. I spoke to Belle about it. But you are my only two friends who would not make judgments and say… harsh… words.”
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